I Challenge You To Read This To The End, Reading Links and THEN ask yourself my final question.


I have to wonder why weekends tend to lead me down the path of more serious rants? Maybe it’s I have more free time to think, emails not coming in every 10 seconds and I have time to stop and sit back and reflect on the last week. But it’s always the way. Let’s face it everyone loves a good contemplative Sunday rant. Maybe they are more bearable with a hangover? Or maybe I’m just jealous if all the people out there with hangovers? Whatever…. The point is we are entering deep contemplative rant territory. Hold on to your hats or your asses, whichever you prefer, I don’t mind.

As children, looking at adults it seems all times it’s fucking brilliant. You get to make the rules, make all the choices and are the master if your own destiny. Looked fucking fab right? You hit adult territory and say between the ages if 18 and 24 things are JUST how you imagined. Life is fucking awesome. You know why? You finally have that freedom you’ve been coveting your whole entire life. Then the bomb hits, the proverbial double-edged sword. Responsibility. You suddenly have a shit load of it and it all sits squarely on your shoulders. It’s a fucking heavy burden and what the living fuck this was never in the plan. But see the plans of a child versus the adult world are galaxies apart. In exchange for this freedom there are real life, fuck it up, you pay the consequences responsibilities.

We are talking passing university (if you go that route), getting a job, paying bills, looking after smaller humans and you know the shit that really counts. Ironically it also is the stuff that impeach on those converted freedoms. Because if said responsibilities are not met, not only are your freedoms now severity limited, you can end up homeless but you can also end up in jail. Green and orange do not go with my skin tone, so I’m trying to avoid that. Given my what can be unpredictable nature and let’s just say hair-trigger temper, I’m glad I have someone to pay that helps keep me out of jail.

We not only have responsibilities to ourselves, but to others and the community as a whole. Whether it’s dealing with drug addiction, raising children right, getting to work on time and performing, teaching a good moral code to our kids, vaccinating or my all time favourite pet peeve…. Gun laws. Yes this is a gun laws post, Americans are going to flame me, tell me I have no idea what I’m taking about or just downright refuse to even hear me out. That’s ok, that’s their loss. What I have to say might not be new, it might be something you’ve heard a million times but I have to get it off my chest. But I CHALLENGE you to read this, read the links, watch the videos and then REALLY think.

american gun laws

No I’m not American. I have NOTHING against Americans generally though I accept that some nations and nationalities do. Fair call on a lot of it. But living in a country they have yet to wrong, I won’t delve into those issues. Not because I don’t have an opinion, let’s face it I have an opinion on everything. But I refuse to piss all over another’s grievance without an insider perspective and what some might call an ignorant view. That may or may not be fair but it’s not a line I am comfortable or willing to walk. Though gun laws/reform that I HAVE experienced first hand and feel qualified enough to comment.

I live in a mixed economy nation, it’s a bastardised version of capitalism and socialism. It’s not perfect by a long shot, but it’s also not all types of fucked up. This week saw the tragic story of a gun instructor being fatally wounded in Arizona while teaching a 9-year-old how to fire a powerful firearm. I’m not versed in firearms but from the video I’ve seen, the recoil alone leads me to believe this is a powerful weapon and NOT one a 9-year-old should be touching let alone learning to shoot with. Why? I think the consequences of the incident speak for themselves.


I’ve heard excuses, which are the total bullshit “reasons” as to how it all went wrong. Ranging from she was holding the gun wrong, to the instructor should have been holding it with her down to criticism of the shoes she was wearing. If a shoe critique is all you can take away from this tragedy, I seriously need to fucking point out your priorities are ALL wrong. What I want to know, is WHY a 9-year-old firstly needs to learn to shoot and secondly why with such a high power weapon? My brain boggles.

What boggles my brain even further, though I have now managed to grasp, is that Americans HATE anything that they perceive to take away their personal freedom. This includes the second amendment and the right to bare arms. Which by the way if you survey 100 Americans, less than 10% (researched statistic and peer-reviewed) actually know why the second amendment was written. It was NOT written for “self-protection” the way it is coined today or to protect yourself from some unlucky bastard who happens upon your property. It was implemented as a precaution on two levels. To overthrow a tyrannical government, which the secret service kinda put an end to and to protect the freedom your new colony had from a invasion from the British. I can say with absolute certainty that that no longer a concern. The British are well and truly over it, they don’t want you back. No offense.


So now we have gun-toting Americans carrying around concealed weapons, permit or not, for self-protection. You feel threatened and you’re free to shoot to kill. The definition of threatened is not well established by law. It’s a fuzzy grey area. Those are the worst, the most dangerous and also the most easily exploitable.

I recently sent a few of my hard-core left-wing gun supporting friends proposed gun reform. Our gun reform laws. Bar the part about “necessity” for owning a gun, which is a small part, I can honestly say pretty much all of them agreed that these laws seemed reasonable. The difference? Reform doesn’t infer control or the taking away of civil rights. They were even more astonished that these were the laws that Americans had just vetoed.

Now I’m not sure about you but I love that I live in a culture where I don’t have to worry about sending my children to school for fear of them being shot and schools don’t have metal detectors. I love the fact I can take a walk through most neighborhoods and not worry about being mugged or having a gun stuck in my face. Of course we have “bad areas and high crime/drug areas” but we also have specialized crime and drug units that are into this shit like you wouldn’t believe.

18 years ago we had our last mass shooting, where 35 innocent people were shot dead. Sweeping gun reforms were introduced and all the same arguments that Americans have today were argued. The government pushed on. They had a buy back scheme and if after that grace period you were caught with an illegal firearm, you were in serious shit. The jail time serious shit. Since then? ZERO massacres.


I cannot do the legislation justice in this post or the outcomes so I direct you here;


The common misconception is that we CANNOT have guns here. The reality is you can, if you have a legitimate reason, pass psychological testing and go through the cooling off period of at least a month, while your application is evaluated.

So instead of ME trying to change your mind. I ask Americans to look back over the tragedies over the last decades. Reflect on the innocent lives lost and THEN read my link. Then see how you feel. Maybe you will feel no different, maybe you will agree with some and maybe you will disagree. But the bottom line is gun reform worked here. We had the same issues, the same arguments but not the attachment to the “second amendment”. Don’t think this was an easy process and that there wasn’t massive objection but the government pushed on for what turned out to be the greater good.

I also invite you to watch these three links. Just to get a bit more perspective. Watch all three.

After all of this. The question I ask of you dear reader, is gun reform actually a real loss of freedom or are you taking it back?


Anyone Want To Trade Monster Inlaws?

Oh life, I’d just like to give you a giant FUCK YOU today. I’m not in the best of moods to start with. I have what I like to call a “social hangover”. Which is code for a migraine coming from having to deal with people in a social situation and having facial muscles that are so sore from the effort of smiling that makes it feel like I had some type if toxic 12 hour Botox that was injected into my face to give me the perfect perma-smile. I smile less than Kristen Stewart generally. So feeling all types if fucking fantabulous.


Then there comes the having to deal with more people, but the total assfuck variety, rather than just people-people. Unfortunately these aren’t the social kind you can just banish and never have to think about again but the inherited type, when you marry. Yeah fucking in-laws, who are the bane of most people’s existence and my existence  also at the best of times. When they actually decided they are going to participate in our lives? Well they inspire all types of hallucinations, voices in my head  and plans for total destruction. Of them, not me, but hell I’d take me out at this point because at least then I’d be free of them. The only suitable gift for my mother in law is a silver bullet  and I’m not even sure that would be effective.

This “woman” is all types of rage inspiring (though I find most people inspire rage), I’m sure even the devil dislikes her. Or she is the devil or at least related. Either way I’m sure he despises her just as much as I do. Fortunately for me life is finite, the afterlife not so much so, so he’s going to be stuck with her far longer than I am. Poor bastard.


See my mother in law IS the Anti Christ, I’m certain of it. No I’m not exaggerating. She’s a true psychopath, I joke about being one but I’m a sociopath at best. Don’t be confused there is a HUGE difference between sociopath’s and psychopath’s Sociopath’s especially the type like me that actually ace the morality psychometric testing? We are all types of awesome. So what is the difference I hear you wondering, well other than a souls, is ANY type of moral compass, moral fiber or respect for any other human being.


See she thinks she rules the world, since her said world exists only in her head, then I guess she is partly right. It just so happens that that world isn’t the same as the rest if us live in and when those worlds collide? Carnage. Of the most spectacularly fucktastical craptastic and destructive kind.


If the ground was capable of opening up and swallowing a person whole for evil then she would be on the top of that list, even above Facebook and Samsung Class A Epic Cunts. Is there a worse phrase to describe a person than a Class A Epic Cunt? There has to be or I’m going to have to retract the label from the earlier recipients and give it solely to her. Cause she is in a class all of her own. Thank fuck, because if there was more than one of her I’m certain that existence as we know it would be pulled into a black hole vortex of pure molten evil. Is there worse than evil? There has to be because that just doesn’t seem strong enough. If you knew my mother in law, you’d agree. You’d likely also be so mindfucked from how wholly encompassing vile she is, you’d run screaming for the hills, vowing never to return. This might explain how Atlantis sunk and the Mayans disappeared. They got scared and smart. I’m convinced she’s been walking the earth since the beginning of time, Medusa head and all and torturing any poor souls that crossed her path ever since. I’m also pretty sure she’s the reason dinosaurs are extinct. She inspires such a reaction.


Your likely wondering what Mr BmB thinks of this rant? He thinks I’ve gone soft and this is the nicest thing I’ve ever said about his mother. He’s right. Now I feel sick. I am being faaaaarrr too nice. What the fuck is wrong with me? I blame the social hangover. My brain is still too mushed up from dealing with people to do this creature justice. Though if there was any type of justice, she’d burn alive for all of eternity. I’m holding out hope for that. I know, hope generally leads to disappointment but it’s all I have at this point, which as a narcissistic, opportunistic, OCD, sociopathic and particularly steel backboned woman’s this requires something like lithium to deal with. So a “normal” person? She’d eat them alive and does. Preferably it would be her medicated with the lithium but I’m sticking my had up if I can’t find a way to smuggle it into the blood of innocent children she drinks at night to keep her alive.

So here I am, dealing with my social hangover and her near world ending tantrum over being told one simple word “no”. See that’s not in her vocabulary. Well actually it is, but she has two vocabularies. One that she uses for others and one others should use on her.

Since we’ve met dear reader and I’d like to think we know each other quite well by now, you would realise NO is a word that features strongly in my vocabulary. Which is where the issues we have, begin and end. Well if we are not taking the evil madness and total disconnection from the real world state she lives in into account. You see she has an opinion on everything. In her world opinion is synonym for directive. Well she sure as shit hit the daughter in law jackpot when I sashayed into her life, didn’t she? Because until then no one had dared to take her head on, let alone win.


See dear reader she totally overestimates the level of control she has over me, the effectiveness of her tantrums and my willingness to be a sycophant like the other in-laws that married into the family who will bend over with a smile and take it up the ass. Here? Up the ass is a no go zone, unless I’m doing the delivering. It’s that simple and over 20 years in her peon brain has still yet been able to grasp this concept. She’s not so bright, she still hasn’t grasped I’m not controllable generally, let alone by her.


See she’s met her match. The harder she pushes, the deeper I dig my heels in. The harder she tantrums, the more I laugh. The bigger the demands, the closer to massive disappointment awaits her at the other side. If there is one thing I’m sure over in this life is my mother in law will NEVER get her own way when it comes to me and my family. You know why? Because unlike anyone else she’s met in life, she doesn’t scare me and I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. Remembering this is less than zero fucks because with zero fucks at least I pretended to try to count. I’m not even going to try to pretend with her. I work on billable hours and she can’t afford me. Or manipulate me. She’s tried many a times and failed in spectacular fashion. Her absolute rage delights me. It actually gives me the sustenance and fortitude to continue on my own merry way, so jokes on her!

I know you’re likely there thinking well Senior Mrs BmB and Mrs BmB sound kind of similar. But let me assure you we are not. Polar opposites of the same personality traits but in the most psychologically significant way. Other than the important distinction between psychopath and sociopath (see above table) and the difference is what sets us apart. While our personality traits may be similar it’s our motivations that have us worlds apart. I’m all for the big picture, the greater good and fighting the good fight for a cause that’s worth fighting for. She is only motivated by self, ego and no doubt capable of really physically harming another human being. I could never really do the latter, I’d have to pay someone to do that for me. Cutting isn’t real physical harm is it, really?

Yes I also have hefty doses of the others but I also have a social conscience, do not believe I’m omnipotent and while I can be the devil to deal with, for a good cause, she is just the devil inherently for every cause she has, that begin and end with her and her need to control. I recognise control as an illusion and nothing more. She actually does not get this and while one might have the illusion of control it really is at the deciding of the second party. The second party actually being the one in control but letting the former feel they are in control. Anyone who has seen the movie Wag The Dog will know exactly what I’m talking about.


So while on face value we may seem very alike, though my horns are retractable, once you scratch the VERY thin veneer that she occasionally wears to try to pass herself off as human, under it there is nothing but black.

There is the other major difference, she is dumb, the worst kind of dumb, the dumb that thinks it’s smart. The type of dumb that is so fucking spectacular it makes you doubt Darwinism, natural selection and the evolution of primordial ooze. It’s a total fucking head trip.

So now I’ve purged my mother in law from my brain, until next time she attempts to stick her foot in my life and my business again, she is banished into the darkness from which she came.

Weddings Bring Out The Best In Me…. The Worst Kind.

Weddings are supposed to be blissful occasions full of joy, merriment and alcohol. Actually that might be Christmas? Whatever the important part is the alcohol. This would be because it’s not my wedding, been there, done that and while I’m sure it was a wonderful day all I have is a montage of flashes in my memory, no I wasn’t drunk, but it just goes so damn fast and there are so many damn people, I’ve blocked the trauma out. Though I got a beautiful diamond band out of the deal, so winning on that front. Mr BmB? Yeah still trying to decide what he got out of the deal near 8 years in, not my problem. No I’m not old, no I didn’t get married young…. I’m in the middle of that. Yeah no docket either remember, so Mr BmB, no returnsies. Yeah say it again, poor bastard.

I don’t know what it is about weddings but I’ve yet to get through one as a guest and not have a major panic attack. Mine? I was fine, go figure. But other people’s? Well panic city. Maybe cause it’s “their special day” which shits al over “my special life” and it’s the narcissist in me? Or maybe it’s the PDA, I’m not big on that, get a room. I’m not big on touching generally all types of skin crawls, so PDA’s are not on my list of “to do activities to participate or watch, ever”…. You know how many germs other people have? Yeah how the fuck did I end up with 4 kids right? Lots and lots of alcohol and very hot antiseptic laced hot showers. Job done if I smell like a hospital after.

Yeah I’m a germaphobe, not to the point of washing my hands 100 times a day but sure as shit if I see someone who looks like they even think they might be unwell they better stay the fuck away from me. I can think of nothing that makes me shudder more than other people’s bodily fluids… Spit… Blood… Sweat… Tears (Though I love tears as long as they are induced by me and the unhappy kind)… And baby making fluids…. My skin is officially crawling and I’m swallowing fists full of medications ending in “pam” and drinking at 11am. Don’t judge me I’m going to someone else’s special day!

Working with and having kids, this makes life interesting. They are Petrie dishes of all thing viral, bacterial and likely to kill you if you don’t see a Dr ASAP. Yes my Dr is on speed dial and I’m a priority patient. The receptionists just know better than to leave me flipping out on the phone. Cause I will go in there, face mask and all and camp out till my doctor sees me. True story. I’m sure they have a 15 minute block each day assigned just for me. Could be her lunch break or Medicare is paying one bitch of a bill. Either way, meh. Medical crisis averted.

Trips to the hospital emergency room? Well they require near hazmat attire. See I have 4 kids, 3 boys and of course they now know me by name. First and last. I’m a frequent flyer. I live by the rule with my kids health one can never be too careful. If someone else comes to me with a sick/injured child, I can give sage advice, no problem, it will be fine it’s a boo boo. With my kids, all that advice goes out the window, like Merlot, and I go into panic Mumma Bear mode. To be fair ever have a child with Whooping Cough (immunized thank god) and it’s your first child, panic gets sort of ingrained after that. Bumps on the heads, concussions, broken elbows from trampoline spinjitzu’ing (what ever the fuck that is, master 4 couldn’t really shed much insight other than it mean he landed on the ground) and a multitude of high temperatures, appendicitis and newborn jaundice and we pretty much hit the express lane once we land there. They also know to keep the other sick people the fuck away from us, as far as possible cause it they are within 10 feet I am going to flip the fuck out, yell, scream, rant, rave and steal medical supplies till we are moved. We get out own room now upon check in. See crazy get you special treatment and shit done.

But back to weddings. I can honestly say I’m not a fan. I’m all for people getting married if they want, it’s just the attending I have issues with, no matter how much I like the bride and groom. You know why? Of course you do, there are other people there and it’s well established I DO NOT LIKE other people. Even friends of friends. Who I’m obligated to be at least polite to, because hating on the bride and grooms friends AT their wedding? No that shit ain’t going to fly, well at least until people are too drunk to remember and I can deny everything. We all know drunk people have poor memories and I’m never wrong. So shit went down just the way I said it did. Period.

So I’m off to a wedding. I get to get all dressed up and put on my Sunday finest on a Friday. Well I guess it’s better than a day at the office. Bonus points for the fact it’s being held at a vineyard, so there should be wine a plenty. If not, the diabetic in me can search out the grapes and eat them off the vines, because the sugar content alone will produce such an epic sugar high that everything will be right with the world. Short term. The comedown is the bitch to end all bitches. Add in my bitch factor and all bets are off. If you even look at me at me with what I interpret as the wrong way. I WILL fuck your shit up. Oh happy days!

Yeah still got crappy internet. So no pictures. Deal with it, I have to and that far more important than you having to deal with it. Because I said so.

3G Internet What Hell IS This??!

Ok so I’m having a clusterfuck of first world problems at the moment, as witnessed by yesterday’s post. Today? Crawling internet. It’s true when they say “you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone”… Fiber to the home? Gone. 4G gone. So I’m sitting here with ass backwards plain old fucked up 3G, which might as well be dial up for the speeds I’m getting! DIAL UP…. At least I don’t have the bloody annoying fax type noises to go with it, but the night is still young!

Now you might be thinking Mrs BmB is over dramatising how dire the situation or that I’m a computer nerd in disguise. Buzz! Wrong! I just hate waiting, for anything. For a cached web page to load? No! What the living fuck? My phone is about to become a projectile. If Apple wasn’t making me hold out till the 9th September, and let’s see if they really stick to that promise, I actually need my phone. So fucker internet gets the last laugh and I’m left gritting my teeth for basic pages such as Google to load. Fuck this shit! What ass backwards hotel doesn’t have wifi but has a grand piano? The trade off isn’t balancing out for me. Sure I can bang randomly on said piano and cause a huge mass assault on people ears within a 10 mile radius of me but what’s the fun in that of they can’t use their fucking phones to call the police to complain? I might even end up with complete strangers on the doorstep ready to give me a mouthful until the see the icy look of doom in my eyes. They really are soulless and I’m just waiting for the day they live up to their full potential and turn someone to stone. God I hope I’m in FBC offices that day!

So today there are no funny pictures, not little quippy memes to go with my blog. It’s just me, pure unadulterated me. Ugh, see that at least needs a warning label and I can’t fucking download one! It’s tapping away inside my brain. I have internet rage, no doubt about it. I never thought I’d say that, I usually scoff at Mr BmB when he whinges about internet speed, cause online gaming is so cool (sarcasm) but today I really really get it. That in itself makes me want to slit my wrists. Luckily the hotel has a complimentary mini bar… The mini part might need some work.

Which brings me to my next complaint, yeah I have a lot of those. What is it with “smart phones” and their bloody auto correct? Predictive text was gone before we could even exchange plesentaries, no no no, just NO! I can’t predict what’s coming next, my phone? Not a hope in hell!

I can assure you dear reader I have never once meant to type ducking, but every time I type fucking it comes up ducking. Every. Damn. Time. What the fuck would I be ducking and so frequently? The autocorrect has a mind of it’s own. It thinks it knows better than I do? I know what I want to type, please stop trying to dissuade me. It’s not going to happen, I know what I want to type, so please for the love of god stop trying to censor me. I’ll censor me. I don’t censor me. See how this works you dumb smart phone? I get the feeling this is the first step in computers trying to take over the world. They’ve already taken over our lives, so the world would be the next logical step right? Do computers do logic? Logistical companies fail at logistics, so I’m all screwed up on my understanding of what does what now. Or what doesn’t do what. As long as everything wants what I want things should be peachy, in theory. But then you need to add in the complication of the pleb asshat factor and you just know things are never going to go exactly to plan all the time. Or even to the contingency plan. I’m OCD so I generally have several of those. One should always pan out right. Ha! In a fools paradise. So I end up flying by the seat of my pants. Makes for some great stories but some epic highs in blood pressure and tantrums along the way. I’m spectacularly good at tantrums, not because I’m spoilt (maybe just a little) but because I really don’t give a flying fuck about causing a scene. Actually the bigger the scene the more likely I am to get my way. Jot that down reader, it’s a gem. He who throws down the best tantrum, especially in public, ALWAYS wins. The key is to stay icy calm, collected and be very precise with your threats and wording and be willing to follow through. Once you get that established, you will always win. Well unless you face someone who knows these rules and then it’s just for the fun of the sport. And winning. It’s always about winning… But that goes without saying. Doesn’t it?

So if this post actually makes it published. Then I’m winning, kind of because while I beat the backwards ass 3G internet, it still drove me to drink in the meantime. But it’s after 7pm, so that’s a given.

I Could Murder With A Smile.



So I’m sitting, waiting and in a state of such rage that I’m seriously afraid I really literally might self combust! Remember earlier when I was gloating about purchasing that dress online, getting it overnight expressed and voila all my shopping woes were over? Well last laugh is on me, I should know never to gloat too early, because for sure some asshat is going to fuck things up and that gloat? Well I’m not feeling so smug now, just murderous.

I guess it’s my fault for assuming “guaranteed overnight delivery” actually meant delivered TO me PERSONALLY. Not to my nearest Toll Priority depot, wherever that is exactly. Because Toll muppet on the other end of the phone can’t tell me. I don’t know about you but I generally know where my office is located, so first clue that this isn’t going to end well, for them.

“You will get a text when it arrives with the address and consignment number. I can’t tell you more than it will be before 8pm” says the snarky bitchy voice down the phone. Of course I can match snarky bitchy voice, hell that’s my normal talking voice, with a “now isn’t that all types of fucken brilliant. So I just sit around waiting for a text message then.?” The waspish “yes” and slamming down if the phone, just enrages me further.


Of course the only reasonable thing to do is to call back and say “Oh I’m sorry, we must have got cut off because you sure are shit didn’t just hang up on me…. Hmmm what’s your name again?” You would think this is a fair warning, I’m obviously all types of pissed and not afraid to let it be known or unleash the hounds. Toll pleb obviously doesn’t read my blog, otherwise she wouldn’t have dared utter these words “It’s Tina and no we weren’t cut off, I hung up.” Now until this point, I’d like to think I’ve been reasonable, given that said dress should be in my possession by now and I paid, handsomely at that, for this privilege. Oh no she didn’t? Yes she did AND she just poked the already angry bear…. Bad, bad, bad move Tina.

“Excuse me? You dared to hang up on ME? Just because I was letting you know that your customer service is fucking appalling and I’m a very unhappy customer?…. No you don’t speak, not now, not ever…. I want your manager on the phone NOW. I said NO speaking. MANAGER. NOW!” Fortunately for Tina she has some functioning brain cells or is just over dealing with me. Don’t care which it is honestly, just as long as she doesn’t fucken utter another damn word to me.

Manager gets on phone. Of course there are apologies, excuses, logistical issues. For fucks sake, you’re a logistics company, how the fuck do you have logistical issues? That’s like having a shoe shop that doesn’t sell shoes. Frankly I’m done. “Let’s cut to the chase here, when will my parcel be there and if you give me the same BS story about not having tracking devices on parcels, when I get there I’m bringing Magnus and a fucking machete, because I am going to CUT YOU!!! Do not stammer, this is not a hard question. You know which bloody truck it’s on, ring the fucking driver. Ding! Brilliant idea right? Yeah you’re fucking welcome. You need to remember by this point in we are nearing a 45 minute saga. If it was a book, it would be made into two movies.


Put on hold. Elevator music, which for the record while soft and rhythmic is also all types of bugs crawling under your skin type bloody enraging in itself…. Tick tick tick go the minutes. I’m suspecting by this point I’m being left on hold a deliberately long time. I’m certain of it, they are fucking with me for fun. Oh game on! 20 damn minutes pass. Now I could have hung up and called back but Tina would need to speak to me again, can’t back down. Ok, psychological warfare, I’m up to the challenge….. Tick tick tick…. Music more irritating and I’m itching to give any Toll employee several high fives to the face by this point. Finally the musical hell stops and manager is back on phone. Obviously Tina is off crying in a corner somewhere. Good, bitch deserves it. First rule of life is; I’m always right, this is seconded by the customer is always right. I’ve got double points here folks!


Umm Mrs BmB we anticipate your parcel will be here in 2 hours. Ok 3 hour saga, hells no! FFS! The flight to get it here isn’t that long, has it left the damn airport? Stuttering. Nothing like hearing a grown man stutter. You just know that under it he’s wishing his Mummy could take the call for him. Two hours are unacceptable and this is expressed rather coluorfully. The exact wording I don’t remember, all I remember is a tilted red coloured world. I inform him guaranteed next day delivery is TO me, not your warehouse. By the way, where the fuck is your warehouse? Tina seemed to have issues with knowing her exact location. Given my rage, I’d have had issues giving out my exact location had I been Tina. Meh. Who am I kidding, I’d never be Tina. Tina is a wannabe bitch. I got that t-shirt when I was 5. It still fits by the way Bethany Frankel if you’re wondering, you crazy psycho “how cute is it I fit in my 4 year olds pajamas” No it’s not fucking cute, it’s gross and disturbing. Grown women who fit into a Size T5? Therapist time, cause that’s a whole other set of issues….

Ok says manager, maybe an hour. Ok things are getting better. Maybe an hour. I’m 20 minutes from your location. Let me tell you what, I’m leaving now, bringing Magnus my eyeball collecting bird with me and sticking around until the fucking parcel is in my hands. I’m also working on billable hours, travel time and rage compensation. So I want my delivery fee back and your head to put in my muppet cabinet as a trophy.


So here I sit. Informing them of what this is going to cost them in monetary terms every time someone walks by. No not you delivery man, this isn’t your fault, your assshat employer. I think I see him smile. Yeah that’s right I strung your jerk off boss up by the short and curlies and you have front row tickets. You see the lawyer has already put in a call, quoting breach of contract for services rendered, thrown in a lot of other legal jargon that loosely translates to “this is going to cost you big time”…. You think I’m ballsy, imagine my lawyer. He’s the guy that needs to get me out of a lot of the shitstorms I create. He gets hazard pay, don’t feel too bad for him.

So I sit and snarl and wait…. Impatiently and menacingly. Plotting how I’m going to get Mr BmB to get me a personal assistant. Cause this shit ain’t happening again. Lives will be lost, blood will be shed and I’ll be the one left smiling.

Ok shit is not happening fast enough and they are talking about closing the office. You will have to come back in the morning. Oh fuck no, that’s not how this ends. This ends with me with my parcel in my hand and some bloody compensation! That’s how this ends. I decree it so!

So of course, the next logical step is to ring head office, in another state, while in closest Toll depot. Yeah all kinda of whacky fun. Fuck the initial pleb on the phone, trust me I’m nice to him this is not his fault and he greeted me cheerily enough, but for his sake and safety he better put the highest power that is present in that building on the phone, please and thank you. I’m told office is closing by head honcho man, yeah no that’s not working for me, try door number two. Here, let me hand it to you on a plate. Find the EXACT location of my parcel and get it the fuck to me pronto. Otherwise I’m going all rockstar on your ass and trashing your office. Please hold. More bug under skin crawling music. For too long… I’m certain by this point my rage has already bottomed out my already  low blood sugar into the place that I really could plead diminished capacity if needed. Then head honcho man is back, I will call you back. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. The phone rings. New cheery pleb, head honcho has delegated to someone else. Nice set you have there dude. Chipper voice tells me good news. Well that’s fantastic, any news would be good right about now. We are too many hours into this saga to even count on one hand…. The next part will blow your brain!


Now wait for it dear reader this is the most fucktastical part of this whole blog. It’s in the holding area, at the depot where I am, for the last 2.5 hours. Literally 10 feet from me. 10 fucking feet! I’m about to go all types of postal. Let’s just say the senior management who delegated to new pleb  person at Toll has now lost all his man cards and new cheery pleb is all types of apologetic. I’m sorry not cutting it, you will be hearing from my lawyer because “don’t you know who the fuck I am and this is unacceptable”. It’s very likely they really do have no idea who I am. I’m ungoogleable and with good reason. I’ve managed some spectacular tantrums, “international event”s even but I’ve managed to stay off the news and out of jail so far. Thank you lawyer. But I really hope Toll manager head honcho guy spends all night trying to find out who I am and what I’m capable of. I really should have left a BmB card at office. Yes so complaint letter to be penned tomorrow after a viscous phone call where gutless wonder head honcho guy is going to have to find some man cards or accept the up the ass delivery of “I’m a whiney little bitch” cards. Several packs of them! Quicker than overnight guaranteed and directly to him!

The nice young chap than handed me the box. Well if I wasn’t married, I’d have kissed him. Even more so when I said “your fucker boss is going to burn for this” He chuckled and said “go for it”. It seems their employees are as happy as their customers. So now I’m morally obligated to give it to them up the ass because unhappy customers one thing. Unhappy workers, who give me my golden  parcel and who didn’t blink at my scowl or tirade against his employer? My package Prince Charming, not having his boss chewed out? Not on my watch dear reader, not on my watch.

As for the package. The dress? Well it better damn be the right one and fit. Otherwise they will be on the receiving end of equal rage tomorrow. They have been warned!

FYI. The dress is the wrong size… Someone has no idea of measurements. I know mine were correct and the extra several inches both sides? Infuriating. If it’s even too big fir the girls, someone has NO idea how to read a size chart. So tomorrow someone else  is also going to pay for this giant clusterfuck of errors!

I look forward to it. Like I said earlier, I’m a Class A Bitch. So you’re not surprised. Or at least you shouldn’t be!



Things That S**t me…. Not An Exhaustive List… Just Yesterday.

Ok so after Shitterday yesterday, which seems to have fixed itself thank god, with ZERO help from the helpdesk. Oh the irony. Automated emails that don’t address your actual issue but link you back to the help section of the site that you’ve already spent too much, i.e. any, time perusing for answers. Fucking annoying. Please email if you have any further questions. Argh! I do have further questions, along with my original question. Most of them consist of “why can’t you answer the fucking original question?”, “did you actually read my email or just end me a random bunch of links?” and “have FBC taken over twitter, is that’s what’s going on there”? I’m still waiting for a reply, pretty much to any of those questions, though since my twitter account is still up and running and I’m sure I likely violated some abuse of twitter staff policy, that they don’t actually read the emails. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, given my issue has resolved and I’m sure calling them “bunch of useless muppets that will go on the muppet wall” isn’t going to do my account any favours I’m calling it a win. If I disappear, you’ll know why!
twitter muppets

So shopping *sigh* Out in the big wide world, with people *bigger sigh*. OMG it was torture. Ok, well being out in the world not so much torture, but dealing WITH people just gets right up my nose. I’m not talking the population in general, though sometimes it feels like I could apply it to the population in general. I used to think it was me, now I’m not so sure. But that might be the narcissist in me talking. Who am I kidding? Let’s face it the word is cut half and half, ahh fuck let’s not pretend, its only 20% me, that at least 80% of the world’s population is nosebleed inducing stupid or annoying. We all know its true. You might be too polite to say it, but its true. Put two people in front of yourself at random and it’s unlikely you will really like, like actually honestly like more than on a polite level, either of them. One you can likely tolerate, just, or they fall in the unmemorable category. Then the other, you really can’t put your finger on it but there is negativity that you feel towards them. You don’t really know why, unless they speak and and the answer becomes obvious they are the dumbs, but your gut just says “nope”….. Trust me that’s OK and happens to all of us. Except if you’re drunk, then you have extremes, it’s love or hate someone. Nothing in the middle. But I’m talking the massive assumption here that most of you don’t go about your daily lives drunk….. Yeah life is pain, I know. But people are generally unlikable, deal with it. It’s the harsh reality that is life. Thought you hit pay dirt when you actually like someone, if they like you back. I’m not sure what you do if they don’t like you back, because we’ve covered this, I’m awesome.

im awesome

So yeah, it’s hard to like people. Lets not beat about the bush here. It’s IMPOSSIBLE to like sales assistants the vast majority of the time. No offense to any sales assistants out there, I know you’re just doing your job and you have sales quotas ect to meet. But I’m going to give you a HUGE tip here. There is helpful and then there is if you come any closer to me, shower me in false platitudes or shove more clothing at me with that fake attitude and pleasantries that WILL get you shut down so quickly that your head will spin. If you argue with me about what I want, what colours I can wear and how something looks on, then you really are going to cop a mouthful. There is nothing more irritating than that sweet voice that says “come out and show me when you have it on”…. Ummm, hang on a second this is not a peep show and I’m NOT coming out to show you, so you can shower me in false compliments, tell me how great the one size too big dress looks and try to sell me something that looks total crap. Trust me when I say the mirror in the change room is all the advice I need. Don’t start me on the trend of change rooms NOT having mirrors so you have to come out and look at an external mirror and giving the sales assistant the opportunity to pounce. Oh and everyone else in the store gets a good eyeful too. Not that that’s a major issue, by now I have a good idea of size and what I can and can’t wear. But it’s the boob issue again. Yep people are staring, other customers mutter when you head back into the change room “fake bobs?” Which I normally pop my head out and say “No they are real bitches. God gave them to me for free and did a spectacular job. ”

So anyways several stores later, several super annoying sales assistants later and I’m still dress free. I really actually could have bought the first one I tried on it was great, but the sales assistant so far up my ass I wont need a colonoscopy for another few years at the very least. When I heard her comment to Mr BmB about me being “well endowed” that was the end of it. Good old Mr BnM responded with “Yeah I know, that’s how we ended up with 4 kids”. Ha! What can you say to that? Shut right down. Now Mr BmB while witty and smart actually had no idea the actual nugget of gold he had delivered right then and there and I’m sniggering away in the change room. Sniggering and vowing that no matter how much I like said dress, I will not be buying it because I don’t like Ms Sales Assistant. There is an important lesson in there for all sales assistants, especially ones that cross my path. If I don’t like you, I wont purchase from you, ever! You get a chance to be helpful but get too pushy and commenting on my rack will get you banished. The exception to this rule is if I REALLY like something, like love it. Though then I call the second closest store to me, yes it might be interstate and place a phone order (having taken original details from first store), pay by card and have it sent to me. Yep I will go that far. If they ask why I don’t just go into my nearest store, because they have it in stock, I’m blunt. “Your sales assistant was a giant pain in the ass, you so far are not, so I’d prefer you and your store to get the credit for this sale rather than that pain in the ass.” Never had an issue with it yet. The only thing is they might ask me to pay postage. Damn straight I’ll pay postage to avoid having to purchase from original store, no problem. Now I have the item and asshat sales assistant is wondering why I never came back in. Good. The problem is most definitely you and not me and I don’t have the time or patience to teach you.

gc its you

So this brings me to today. I’m sitting waiting for a delivery. Not of any dresses I tried on yesterday, though I do have one on hold till tomorrow for shits and giggles, for a dress to arrive from interstate. Have I actually sighted dress? Nope. Tried it on? Nope? But went Internet shopping and then over the phone. After an endless parade of annoying sales assistants, this seemed the easiest route to go and one that wouldn’t land me in jail. I’m pretty good with knowing measurements and what will/wont look good. So I’m pretty confident I made the right call and am more confident that I will NEVER go shopping in person again. You know when baby BmB starts screaming at sales assistants, that there is something very wrong. Babies and animals just KNOW about people. Like a gift, they can tell good from evil right away. Which is why I’m sure Miss Xanaxy Grumpy Cat (see past blogs about this disappointment) IS trying to smother me in my sleep. Though she has a cat boner for Mr BmB. I’m pretty sure most of the time he’d trade me in for her too…. But for the time being he’s content to have us both and while he’s smothering her with love, I get to avoid all things cuddly and warm and fuzzy. That cat does have her uses. Who said you can’t have your cake it and eat it too?


Number, Numbers And First World Issues!


Numbers are a bitch and no I’m talking about math, algebra or even bank the balance. This is something that can send me so far off tilt in the shortest amount of time, that is has to be world record speed. Whether the numbers go up or the numbers go down. Because I’m left here scratching my head as to what caused these ups and downs. See reader it’s NEVER just a small rise or a small increase we are talking 1000’s of up’s and downs. Twitter, you are an evil mistress. Your numbers boggle my brain and your as just so fickle, in such large number that I’m all sorts of itchy. One morning it’s like winning the twitter lottery, the next it’s like it’s been viciously snatched away. The funny thing, it’s not the unfollowng that actually annoys me, because I assume with the way I write that I’m likely to piss people off at the drop of a hat. It’s the OCD in me that sees the drop in the ACTUAL number and it gets me sorts of itchy. Think hives, upon hives, upon hives, that NOTHING is going to fix till those numbers go back up. Akamai, not to blame to today and there is no Internet apocalypse, so either FBC have taken over twitter for the day, Twitter is glitching or the numbers are real…. Ok I’m going to need a few Xanax today washed down with some wine and I’m also going to have to hand them out to those around me. Because dear reader, my first world woes are not done. (Ps if you can help sort this twitter issue, known now as shitter issue, out please do…. Though I’m sure if you’re like me the idea of me obsessing over numbers is so amusing I just made your day….) But yeah back to my first world problems.

first world problems

I’m going to an event on Friday, a nice event, a happy event and like every woman since the beginning of time I have nothing to wear. I thought I could solve this problem by online shopping, ages ago, that didn’t pan out too well. Either dresses haven’t arrived or they are terrible. Mostly the former, but several of the latter as well. I’m chasing you fuckers down FYI! Not happy. So this explains with 3 days till event, I am FORCED to go out into the world, deal with people and actually buy things in person. Fuckity, fuckity, fuck. This is not going to end well, especially on top of the twitter numbers sitting in the back of my head and singing Taylor Swift to me. Fuck Taylor, at this point if I could “Shake It Off” I fucken would, trust me. But being a narcissistic, OCD, control freak, perfectionist, psychopath these things just don’t come so easy to me. A therapist once said to me, why don’t your try denial. What the fuck? A therapist that suggesting you step foot INTO denial. Well that’s a first and the reason she was banished. Being trained in that area myself, while the concept had some merit, it’s really not an area you shove a personality like mine it. God knows what harm could come of it.

So I’m to venture off into the big wide world today, taking Mr BmB with me, to protect others, to try to find suitable attire for said event. This of course includes shoes, accessories and everything else that goes with it. Makeup, bag, earrings, perfume and the list can go on and on. Mr BmB will hand over the Amex, without question, because after being together 10 years, he knows that while spending wont make ANY numbers better, it might just make me feel that little bit better. Saving the souls of others. They say money can’t but happiness and they are right, but what they fail to add is that it can sure as shit help with unhappiness. I’m also blaming Mr BmB for the twitter fall. I normally don’t bow to pressure about what I should post and I take full responsibility for my last post, but it wasn’t the one I’d actually chosen to post, it was written weeks ago and it was just sitting there while I mulled it over. Yeah peer pressure is a bitch and even the best of us can succumb to it. Lesson learned, till next time someone hands me a cocktail and tells me to drink it…. I have an epic post about the songs that anthemise (is that a word, it is now cause I say it is) my life. Totally rockin post and no pun intended, well maybe a little.
shopping happiness

So as I haul my ass up out of my office this morning, ha yes this all on works time, as will be the rest of the day. All I can hope is that the dress hunting is quick, the sales assistants are quiet or Mr BmB with baby BmB keeps them occupied and the bitch that is the twitter mistress solves whatever the issue is that is going on with my account. Because until then, I’m living in a drunken Xanaxy plain and I’m pretty sure the event I’m going to on Friday will require me to look nice and fresh, not like I’m on the tail end of an epic Vegas bender. Though I could always blame MXGC for keeping me up all night, smothering me in love. I mean that literally, I really think she is trying to smother me, to get to Mr BmB (cat crush in the worse extreme and reciprocated)….. You know what I’m calling it early, today sucks. Someone deal with it, quick or I’m pleading diminished capacity for all my actions.

teitter numbers

Though SG is back to Manila, taking DG with him in spirit, today, so things really could turn around!

twitter help

I should add in there a quick goggle search tells me a lot of people experience sudden drops in twitter likes, especially if your account is growing well. As they audit account to make sure they are not spam and they suspend accounts for publishing material that breaks their code if conduct. Well none of my subscribers would do that would they? I have faith. If I can get away with what I post, there can’t been too many rules. Lets hope the twitter help desk is more efficient than most. Though the blogs for the songs that anthem my life was brought to you by the receptionist at my doctor and being on hold for FAR too long, so good can come from bad. Luckily I had the Xanax RX filed yesterday!

And for good measure:

follow me twitter

The Anti Blog Blog.

Ok so today’s rant is a blog rant. That’s right, you read right, a blog that is ranting about blogs. How wonderfully contradictory of me eh? I’m allowed to be contradictory, really I’m a woman and that comes with the territory. Plus I really am a bitch, so what do you expect?

Though I guess I should be a little more specific. It’s a rant about those picture perfect sweet as pie, look at how great my life is, so much so the glucose spike from reading it near puts you in a coma. Or makes you want to slit your wrists, whichever way you lean. I mean really come on, it’s absolute drivel at it’s worst. Not entertaining, unless you’re actually viewing it to laugh at. Otherwise, well, it’s a little or a lot pathetic. Ok a lot. I’ll call it.

You all know the ones I mean. It’s like the all American advertising campaign for their life. Frankly dear reader I call total and utter BULLSHIT on it. Yes you read that right, its total and utter BULLSHIT! It’s so manufactured it might as well have a “made in delusion land” label. Or at least come with a warning label that reads “this is bit real life, this is fantasy blog land”.


That’s the funny thing about social media, we can be whomever we want to be. We can present ourselves in the very best possible light and no one will be any the wiser. Ok well the realists (i.e. people who aren’t stupid) will be, but there will always be those who believe everything they read on the Internet. They actually cheer these “bloggers” on with their what I can only hope is false praise, otherwise as a species Darwinism needs to step the fuck in! Yeah people who believe in chemtrails I’m talking to you. Natural selection, where are you?

I personally prefer the no holds barred, this is who I am and if you don’t like it you can suck it approach. What you read, is what I am. Be afraid, be very afraid.


So I decided to list my top 6-blog irritations. When I say irritations, I mean they make me so itchy that they make me want to scratch myself till I bleed type itchy. No joke. I initially had 5 of these, but I just felt I needed to include a 6th. They all deserve their moment to shine. This is not an all encompassing list but it’s the highlights.

1. The Gym Junkie / Weight Loss Blog / My weird new diet blog.

Ok so this one came first due to the large number of selfies included. I’m all for narcissistic vanity, but in others it irritates the living fuck out of me. Double standards? For sure, sue me!

You know the ones, the before, the after’s, the in the middles, the ones that have “omg I fell off the wagon” and everything in between. It should be noted that most of these actual selfies look the same, except the posters facial expression. There is nothing more amusing than an after shot where the poster is holding their breath, sucking in and trying to look natural. They generally just look like they are trying not to shit themselves. The even funnier part is you know that’s the best they could do in about 1000 photo attempts.

Spattered through these pictures are the “look how awesome I am I’m going to the gym” or the “I’ve just come from the gym” posts. Obligatory selfie of course. Because you know, if I tell you I’m going or have been I really must have because random stranger on the internet I hold you accountable for holding me accountable. Such level of trust. I volunteer to help you be accountable for your online spending too, send me your credit cards. Cause let’s face it those brand spanking new exercise clothes and shoes (yes I noticed they colour coordinate) didn’t come cheap. Though damn, they seem to last well and show minimal signs of wash and wear over your postings. I really need to buy the most expensive quality workout gear, if that’s how it lasts when used 4 times a day!

Of course then we have to add in the new weird diet trend they are trying that is AMAHzing and has transformed their life completely. Paleo, I’m looking at you. You know, the all organic, eat from scratch and…. Ahh fuck it, I couldn’t be bothered googleing it honestly. Let’s just go on the fact that dietitians around the world have panned it, called it unhealthy and as good as you feel now, it will kill you in the end. Colon cancer anyone?Paleo it up dear blogger!

2. My Picture Perfect Family Blog.

Ahh, you know the ones. The perfect Mum/Dad couple with the adorable 2.5 children who look so damn cute in every picture they just make you want to squeal along with your ovaries, cause who doesn’t want kids if they THAT cute that right? STOP right there!! Bahahahah….. Ok I need to stop laughing enough to get enough oxygen in my blood stream so I can feel my fingers enough to type again…..

Ok I’m here. OMG who are these people kidding? If you have kids, have been exposed to kids by family/friends or even just happened to wander across one in a random mall/park/carpark/anywhere, you know first hand this is NOT how kids behave. Well unless you drug them, which is tempting but also likely illegal in most places, except Amsterdam cause all weird shit is legal there. So when I see blogs like this, I personally like to think of all the effort, the drama, the tantrums and the tears that went into creating this perfect post.

That’s just from the parent. Let’s face it the kids probably had a great time, they got to irritate their neurotic picture perfect parent no end, which is really part of their job description and what they thrive one. So while said parent is going batty trying to capture “beautiful memories” and “living in the perfect moment” I have to cheer that at least the kids are getting their own gleeful moments, to cherish forever. Nothing sticks with a 3-year-old more than Mum having a near total nervous breakdown over an “impromptu” photo-shoot of their “perfect” day… Well except the moment where they likely threw mud all over their siblings perfect white dress, because the white and denim colour coordination is so in right now or they had their own version if wrestle mania, just for shits and giggles. To said 3-year-old, you’re my hero, never change!

3. I was inspired by another blog-blog.

Well this brings me to ANY blog that opens with the line “So I was reading my friends (questionable at best) blog and they had this great post, so I decided to do my own version of it”. Obviously what they mean by “inspired” and “own version” is do a total rip of said friends blog. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, though honestly passing it off as your own borders on narcissistic. I generally like narcissism, I get it, on me at least. Though you have a blog, it comes with the territory. Look I’ll totally own that one too, again something for another day.

Look at it this way, I adore Monet’s garden. It does inspire me, it makes me want to write poems, sing beautiful songs, wax lyrical about it and hell even give painting a shot. Artistic I am not, so all these things will fail miserably, I’m ok with that. What I wouldn’t do is paint Monet’s garden and then put it on my blog and pass it off as my own and as “inspired by Monet’s garden”. Firstly cause I’d look stupid, secondly cause I’d look stupid and thirdly cause it is stupid. Though for a large enough donation, I’d give it a go. Never say my principles can’t be bought, for the right price. But then I guess the money and not the actual painting inspire me, so it’s a totally different argument. Money will get shit done.

4. The look at me, I’m so real blog.

Ummm right. So real. But damn you’re so positive, so chipper and just never have a bad word to say about anyone. Well you do but it’s so backhanded you hope people miss it. Nah, got it. No political views, you love God and talk to animals and they actually talk back. You never struggle with money; you never fight with anyone, though suspiciously you moderate ALL  comments on your blog and you have it all together. No moderation here folks, free for all. You know why? I have my big girl panties on and external validation means little to me, it’s all internal baby. So fire away. Just remember, you never know what you might get in response. It’s almost a dare right? Shucks, yeah it is. Hit me with your best shot! No really!

Anyways, YAWN. Who wants to read this picture perfect so not real life shit, don’t we get enough of this from Disney movies? Does anyone walk away from this feeling good but the deluded poster? Of course not. Little secret, perfect blogger doesn’t care and gets off on the feeling of superiority. Not really so perfect after all. It’s like a game of undercover bitch.

I personally want to hear about the fight you had with your partner the other day when you lost your shit over them eating your food (ok maybe that was me), I want to hear that you had a meltdown when your 3-year-old drew a mural all over your wall with sharpie, that does NOT look remotely like Monet’s garden. I also want to hear how long it took you to get that “perfect” selfie picture and how often you really don’t eat Paleo. The real nitty gritty. I want to hear what pisses people off, revenge and all the tasty tidbits. Cause now THAT shit is interesting!

Lets be real, you’re as real as Barbie’s boobs, they are plastic. I’ve always wanted to burn Barbie, I’m not sure if it’s because she sets unrealistic expectations or just cause she is so damn fake and flammable it would be fun. Dear “Perfect” blogger, if you didn’t moderate your comments I’d be tempted to flame you too, bet you’d burn just like Barbie too, well if the tears from your obviously super fragile self esteem didn’t put them out first. Because that’s the truth, you have low self esteem and are looking for external validation. You’re in the wrong blog FYI. I’m now inspired to hunt a perfect blogger down and see how long it takes to crack them, just one nasty comment from them, just a teeny one. God are you real or listening?

Though I’ve noticed nasty comments are generally insidiously placed IN said blog, to gather sympathy because of all the Internet bullies/trolls out there picking on them. Oh god and the word bully, it’s a serious term people, but to be thrown at you cause someone caused an owie by telling you what the really think and it hurt your feeewlings. So STOP usung it, it’s disgraceful. Bullying IS a REAL issue, not a pansy people I don’t know said something I didn’t like in the internet to me. Grow a set. You put yourself out there, expect good and the bad. Personally I like trolls, means you’re thinking of me and if you take the time to post even doubly better, I’m in your brain…. Which means love me, hate me you’ll be reading, cause you just wont be able to help yourself. I hate to quote Charlie Sheen, cause he’s a bit of a train wreck or so they will have you believe, though 2.5 Men you seem to have fallen off the planet. But anyways, you’re reading cause you hate me, WINNING! Everyone needs haters, it’s what keeps the world turning and knowing you own that little piece of their brain that they just cant shake, priceless. Visa, there’s your next ad, you’re welcome!

5. The blog who now has paid sponsors to sell you things.

You build a blog base, you make internet friends, you have followers and wow things are going great. Hey, people might actually like you through the computer. My theory is, those who need to be liked through the computer, obviously struggle in real life. I personally think I’m equably hateable in either setting. Yeah I said hateable, I aim high obviously. See the thing is I don’t care. I know you’re thinking, BmB you have to care? Actually no I don’t, didn’t I mention I wasn’t hugged enough as a child or something earlier? Or I failed the psychopathy test, hey true story, both axis, though I’m moral apparently, so this makes me harmless. On paper at least, time will tell.

The next logical a step is to take kickbacks from product promoters to mention their products on your blog, tell loyal followers/friends how much you like the product. Of course you weren’t paid, well except in the free stuff you scored, but lets just gloss over that part and the fact if you give an unfavourable review the free shit ends. Bummer. Everyone likes free shit, problem solved! So this leaves me wondering, being a moral psychopath, would I promote something for money on my blog? Hell yes, for the right price. Everyone has a price. But cause I’m moral this is your warning. See that, we are real friends!


6. The Foodie Blog.

I’m not interested in what your cooking, eating or seeing pictures of it. Not at all. Since when did becoming a “foodie” become trendy? Its like the new hipster or emo for adults, but with less eyeliner. We all eat, It’s safe to say most of us actually like food, since we aren’t on the sunshine to survive diet. But do I need to see everything you consume? I can’t help but think of what it looks like when it comes out the other end. Slightly more interesting, because there really aren’t enough poo posts on the internet. Yeah that’s a dare google “poo” and see what you find. Now there’s a lasting image that will stay with you longer than the pretentious foodie post, you’re welcome.



So well yeah other fake as barbies boobs bloggers, I think it’s safe to say I’m really just not that into you. I’d like to say its all me, but it’s not. It’s totally ALL you!




*oh and sure as shit this was inspired by real life people and events. Don’t you just want to meet them in person? To give them a high five to the face?

** I’m all for healthy and balanced weightloss and exercise. I’ve had more kids than most people but “my journey” back to being comfortable in my own body again wasn’t social media fodder. You know why? I’m not a needy dick!

We All Need A Friend Like This – DG!


I have to say that I love Sunday mornings or around mid afternoon  to be exact, because time zones are a bitch. The actual morning, getting up and the beginning of the end of the weekend I could murder, with a smile. But come afternoon  there is always a reliable pick me up, without fail. The message from the single friend that begins with the woes of the epic hangover they have but then always morphs into the most totally random accounts of the night before. You just never know what you’re going to get, it’s like Forrest Gumps’ box of chocolate’s delivered right to my phone. Without the sugar and the calories. Though guaranteed it’s going to make you laugh so hard that you wish you’d invested in adult diapers for this occasion, every single week.

Said friend is a little publicity shy. Well not really but since said friend can be as tough as nails and frankly their lawyers scare me, well not really because it seems they do a lot of sleeping and holidaying, they will be referred from hereon in as DG. You can safely assume the D stands for drunk, because without the drunk, this person is generally someone you can’t get a trick past. Well most people can’t, I can, but like I always say every rule always has an exception.


So what kind if exploits does DG actually get up to? The most epic in history, or at least the past month, is ending up in a totally different country with NO passport and NO recollection of how they got there. Bonus points though for identifying the country in the moment. It’s ok, they had a posse with them, when I checked in real-time and assessed the actual gravity of the situation. Though at this point I was a little tipsy myself having had my first drink (or 6) in about a year. Diabetics shouldn’t drink but the menu at the function I was at wasn’t diabetic friendly and I had to make a call, drinks or food. I stand by my choice. I assumed that between them, with what capacity I had at the time, they could stay out of jail. Someone in the posse spoke the language, minor win. Plus I wasn’t there to make situation worse as I tend to respond to situations like this identically to DG. Winning. DG ending up in jail in a random country, especially this country, would not end well. The go to “Do you know who I am?” would have ended up with a resounding “fuck no” (debatable) and certain “who gives a shit” (translated by language speaking posse member who also inebriated and wouldn’t think to edit and negotiate… No the lawyer not on holidays with them, where the fuck are these lawyers? Do they exist?) and them in the slammer. This would be all types of bad. DG is bad enough but SG (sober) would have died a million deaths when the reality hit. SG is a little spoilt, deservedly so, they work hard AND smart enough that they can spoil themselves. So ending up in an asspit, being generous, of the earth jail? The tilt would be so epic and I’m sure I’d hear it from half a world away. I’m sure it would actually make international news, because this person pissed is capable of all things labeled “international incident”. Luckily DG had dropped passport at the border and the lucky bastard got away with this drunken adventure. Though I have pictures to prove it, filed away in the “shit that might be very useful future” folder on several devices. None of them SamsungCunts!


Another thing is DG likes to shop. Like a crazy woman at the Black Friday sales. Which would be fine if DG actually needed the items purchased, or the quantity purchased. See DG doesn’t do things by halves. Why purchase 4 of something when you can buy 4000? You know cause when you end up in random country with shit like passports gets lost easily, you can buy your way out of things with a bulk lots of totally random objects, right? Cause they would still be on your person, passport be damned. I’d let DG and posse go for 4000 sets of shoelaces, wouldn’t you? By the way, if you’re in the market for shoelaces, I think I can get you a good deal!

So we’ve established that DG likes to shop. My all time favorite shopping story is when a DG decided to purchase several pairs of footwear, made for sport that DG doesn’t play…. From DG’s own online shop. No freebies for DG, as a responsible business owner DG knows you should always pay yourself for things you already own. DG also has a strict no returns policy. So then SG had to ride in on his white horse to save the day. DG purchased white horse by the way, SG appreciative I’m sure. SG leaving a very firm note for DG that in future returns will not be accepted and a firmer letter for SG warehouse staff to never process an order by either DG or SG, just in case DG tries to fool said employees by impersonating SG. DG is crafty!


Another beauty is DG accepting a random FB friend request. Well maybe not so random as it appears, after a picture of a mysterious girl appears on SG FB marketing his brand on her face in a state of undress, but tastefully done, if there is such a thing. Personal judgement call. Of course SG thinks DG is genius and is wetting himself. Lawyers are MIA (running theme here) and moi needs to step in to give a little free legal advice that consists of “take that the fuck down you plonker, do you realise the possible legal ramifications?” Picture is removed but FB friend request has been accepted and forgotten as DG leaves the building and SG makes an appearance. It should be noted here FB friend request is separate to face girl, but they are related somehow. Still trying to work that one out. The mystery.

So the trolling begins, which is harmless flirting but epic trolling. Whole FB page is violated. But being the crazy OCD woman I am, after new friend is blocked from DG/SG FB page this is, I do what any good crazy and opportunistic friend does, a little digging. Oh the gold! Hours and hours of gold and screenshots which are distributed by myself, at infrequent intervals,  to SG as tasty morsels while he enjoys a nice 3 Michelin star restaurant with good friends.  Heartburn material for sure. FB trolls friends? We can safely assume engage in the worlds oldest profession. No judgement here. To make it clear here face girl does not, did not and wasn’t, well with DG at least, engaged in this profession. He doesn’t need to roll that way! Lawyers if you happen to have finished your endless summer vacay’s and siestas please note I said that and sit the fuck back down, I got your back again. Bill is in the mail.


So I’m trolling ex new FB friends friend list. It’s the things that dreams are made of, blackmail wise. I’ve lived a pretty full life and I can honestly say I’ve never seen as many boobs, asses, provocative poses and the world biggest penis all in one place. Yes I’ve seen Boogie nights, for the record.


That “shit that might be useful later folder” now takes up half a terabyte hard drive. I just hope no one ever finds it because why I have this shit is a long and convoluted story. I’m not sure I’d believe it if I heard it, after seeing it, but it remains cause it’s absolute pay dirt as far as torturing SG goes. Random pictures at inopportune time (for SG) is total opportunity for me. Of course I’m an opportunist when it comes to unprovoked torture, we’ve met right? He knew who I was when he chose to remain friends with me, sober.


So this morning my eyes open at the ass crack of dawn, as anyone with kids will understand the pain is plentiful. Then I remember, it’s Sunday and while it means no school and the minions are home that DG may have left a treasure trove of in real-time adventures on my phone and also SG is going to have to update me later to make sense of what I’ve received. I speak fluent toddler, pretty good drunk but my DG is near impossible. So that’s three languages in total. SG is hating that right about now. It should be pointed out here SG actually doesn’t speak DG too well either…. But generally things fall into place when the deliveries or invoices arrive.

Today’s version of DG honestly? A bit of a let down. Of course SG is hung over. Though DG did agree to do something called ladder ball for charity today. Ladder ball is yet to be defined but being a man of DG’s word SG will participate. I’m hanging out here hoping the hound dog, hung over and miserable photographs of said event as well as the “I think I’m dying” commentary make this last adventure just that little more funny that requires adult diapers too. In fact I’m counting on it…. And the “shit that might be useful folder” is open and ready to add to.


Here’s to the DG’s in our live’s who never learn and keep us thoroughly entertained as we vicariously through them and the sane half thanks God we are not them. Well in this context. Though on a total side note AG (angry) and DTG (detox) tend to fill the other 6 days up nicely with delish tidbits….. All I can say, is we will always have Manilla.



Samsung, you tie with FB for the title of….



Usually when my point gets proven, I feel all warm and fuzzy. Well it’s toasty here, but it molten rage!

Total shame on Samsung! MND is NOT a tool to market the feature of a phone, even if it would survive the ice bucket challenge. Who the living fuck comes up with this shit? Someone should lose their job! I don’t care if you donated an “undisclosed” amount….. How much in publicity did you calculate this would earn you? FUCKERS!!!

You now earn the cunt title too. SamsungClass A Epic Cunts!